


well, darling, you are

by agaunstnazguls



Series: snapshots of a life half lived [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cheating in a previous relationship, Crimes & Criminals, Developing Relationship, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Swearing, montparnasse is dodgy as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 14:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21357574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaunstnazguls/pseuds/agaunstnazguls
Summary: “He’s dead now,” Jehan answers. “We just broke up.”--or, how jehan didn't kill their ex and ends up with a criminalthis may be the third in the series, but it's the first in our hearts (and the timeline)
Relationships: Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Series: snapshots of a life half lived [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1496207
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	well, darling, you are

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: mention of transphobia and previous use of slurs; drug use; mention of cheating; heavily implied gaslighting and issues relating to a previously emotionally manipulative relationship

“I just don’t think you’re good for me.”

Jehan’s ears are ringing. They’re not sure if it’s the weed on an empty stomach, or if it’s the fact that their boyfriend of four years is breaking up with them on their anniversary, when he’s literally just met all of Jehan’s university friends with a smile on his face. 

There were  _ strangers  _ at that club, too. How will Jehan save face now, after gushing about how much Graham means to them, in spite of all of the cheating and the snarky comments about Jehan’s gender pronouns and the endless tears Jehan had shed when Graham ignored their calls? Maybe  _ that’s  _ why Graham is leaving them. He accidentally overheard Jehan crying in the toilets with Eponine after seeing Graham flirting with the bartender, and their waitress at the restaurant,  _ and  _ the person at the petrol station on their way over who looked vaguely alarmed when Graham touched their ass while Jehan was fixing the mirrors. 

Jehan isn’t really sure why they’re still together, honestly. 

They’re standing outside of Graham’s car, actually, and Jehan’s aware that they’re running their hands rhythmically over their wrists, tugging at wristbands in an effort to stay centred. Graham parked in the middle of nowhere, claiming it was safer, but now Jehan has to walk all the way back to the main road by themselves, because Graham is a  _ dickhead  _ who doesn’t know what good timing is _ .  _

_ I just don’t think you’re good for me.  _ What a load of horseshit. 

“I mean, you’re fucking high.” Graham is still talking. Jehan hadn’t even realised. “It’s our anniversary and you just lit it up with your friends. You know how much my parents hate weed, and I gave up smoking so you would stop doing drugs.”

“You never told me you gave up smoking so I wouldn’t smoke weed,” Jehan says. “You were literally smoking earlier, with- with that guy, Enjolras’s friend.” They feel bad for forgetting the name, but it's a very emotional moment.

“Your friends are weird and pretentious,” Graham says and ohhhh, that’s  _ rich.  _ He’s flushed, voice raised in indignation now. “It felt like they were attacking me for voting Conservative. And that blond one—”

“Enjolras, Graham,”  _ duh.  _

“Yeah, him, he went off at me about my comments about Brexit. I mean, it’s fair that immigration is an issue. I don’t see why I should be attacked for expressing a political opinion. You never said you had an issue with me voting  _ Leave.” _

Jehan did, actually, refused to even be seen with him for several weeks afterwards. Maybe he was just used to Jehan ignoring him for being an ass. 

“Well,” Jehan finally says, and Graham shuts up for the first time in four fucking years, “I think you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Jehan says, then repeats, “yeah. You fucking suck. You dragged me all the way back to your shitty car to break up with me? Fuck you.” 

Even though Jehan is swearing, they feel calm. Eerily so. Definitely the weed. As they turn around to head back to the main road, Graham grabs their arm. 

Jehan lashes out before they can control their actions. The end result is Graham, laying at the bottom of a ditch at the side of the road, cradling his arm and groaning. Jehan peers down at him. 

“Oh shit, is everything okay?” 

A curly haired man has joined them in staring down at Graham. Jehan’s certain he’s one of Enjolras’s…. Friends? They spent most of the evening arguing with each other, so Jehan’s not so sure of their label.

“He’s dead now,” Jehan answers. “We just broke up.”

“God,” the man says, and then looks back at Jehan. His eyes are puffy from tears, which is _sad_, and there are dark circles under his eyes, but he still smiles. “I’m Grantaire.”

Peering into the pit, Jehan calls down,“My parents are immigrants, you stupid fuck! If you charge me for assault, I’ll slash your tires." They turn back to Grantaire. “Can you take me back to the club? Why are you here, anyway?”

“Was just grabbing my cigarettes from my car,” Grantaire says. 

“Gross. Can I have one?"

*-*

Grantaire quickly becomes one of Jehan’s best post-Graham friends. 

Every time he introduces them to someone new, whether it be at a club, or an Arts Department exhibition-- because Grantaire is actually an  _ artist _ , and he’s amazing, and he’s the gateway for Jehan to finally become the pretentious poet they always wanted to be but didn’t because Graham found artists to be  _ snooty  _ and  _ unbearably self-absorbed _ , as if Graham didn’t talk a mile a minute about his stupid degree in engineering and how much money he earned  _ constantly _ \-- he tells people they became friends after Jehan attempted to kill their boyfriend. 

Jehan’s agreement varies. Faraway staring becomes a favourite for them, vehement denial if Jehan is actually getting on with the people and wants to make a good impression.

They start spending more time with Enjolras, after the breakup, and Jehan spends more time than they’ll admit among company watching as Enjolras and Grantaire make circles around one another, never quite touching, but always close enough to have their hackles raised. Grantaire’s certain it’s unrequited; Jehan knows otherwise, thanks to Enjolras, but refrains from saying anything. 

*-*

“We have to get you another boyfriend, Jehan,” Courfeyrac is saying one night. He’s been drinking all day, since his last Law exam of the year, and Jehan is surprised he’s still standing. 

“Well,” Jehan says. “I don’t really think I want to date. I’m quite content with what I have.”

And they are, they realise, as they look around. Their friends are all arguing or making merry, and in the dim light of the bar-- that will soon transform into a nightclub-- the contentment is etched into all of their forms. 

“Yeah, but you-- you’re  _ amazing _ ,” Courfeyrac says. 

“I know,” Jehan says, smug. 

“Combeferre, isn’t Jehan amazing?” 

Combeferre, long-suffering boyfriend, sighs as Courfeyrac slaps at his arm. “Of course.”

“I love you,” Courfeyrac says fondly. Combeferre kisses his cheek. “But really. You deserve like-- adoration. Single-person fuelled adoration. Someone with eyes only for you.”

“Inconceivable,” Jehan says teasingly, because, really, it  _ is _ .

At first Graham had been dedicated, but after four years, the amount of messages Jehan had received from ‘the other woman’ had been astronomical. They had all the messages in a scrapbook in their underwear drawer, just to reflect on when they felt particularly lonely and needed reminding about why relationships were a bad idea. 

And that was the issue. Being around so many adoring couples, or people bordering on hostility with the weight of their adoration, Jehan forgot what the heartbreak had felt like. Not the breaking up part; that had been a long time coming. It was that initial heartbreak, where Graham disappeared into a backroom with one of his coworkers and emerged flushed, clothing rumpled, and then denied anything afterwards. After he had gone on a ‘lads’ holiday and one of Graham’s friends had texted them pictures captioned  _ I’m sorry, I tried to stop him.  _

That had been half a year into their relationship. Worse had happened since. 

Like when Jehan had come out at seventeen, the scathing comments. The apologies came days later, and it had burned, but Jehan had allowed him back. They didn’t have any friends, then, no support when Jehan had said  _ I’m going to do an English degree  _ and Graham had scoffed and gone on about practicality and  _ lack of talent.  _

Jehan had spent their formative years in a relationship with someone two years older, who liked people to think he was  _ nice  _ and  _jovial,_ who made friends at the drop of a hat and lost them just as quick.  And Graham was nice, sometimes. Just never with Jehan. Graham’s image had always meant more to him than anything else, and that just wasn’t Jehan’s style.

So, no. No relationships. Not again.

*-*

Jehan dances for so long that by the time they slip away from Eponine, Marius and Cosette, who are too busy staring into each other’s eyes to notice they’ve gone, they are covered in sweat. 

They grab a fresh glass of water from behind the bar, watching the bartender intently as she preps the drink in the hopes the older men staring will get the picture. No fight breaks out, and they head outside with their shoulders hunched. 

Grantaire and Enjolras were out here before, but both have disappeared now. It was one of the rare moments where, post  _ Amis  _ meeting, they had actually got into a functioning conversation instead of an argument. 

Their phone rings,  _ Monster  _ by EXO playing loud enough that several people turn to look at them, eyes burning as their conversations are interrupted. Jehan walks to the far corner of the space, leaning against a wall by some fairy lights and a muted TV, to answer the call.

“Hey, Jehan,” Graham says. His voice is slurred and quiet against a backdrop of club music. 

“What,” Jehan says.

“I miss you,” he says. “Soooo much. What you been up to baby?”

Eponine had shown Jehan pictures of Graham and his co-worker, the same one from all those years ago, only the day before. All over Instagram, going on holiday already, barely a month since their breakup. According to her Instagram, they were celebrating their 6 month anniversary. 

Graham and Jehan separated two months ago.  _ Two months.  _ Even Jehan, the stereotypical English major incapable of most basic maths, could add it up. 

“If your dick is that lonely, why don’t you go and fuck your girlfriend,” Jehan says before hanging up. Their eyes are blurred by tears, and they sniffle, clutching their phone in their hand. 

_ Fuck him fuck him fuck him. Fuck everyone. Fuck romance.  _

A body slips into the space beside Jehan, and they flinch anyway. A click of a light and inhaling, then smoke. The wind is blowing downwards, so it’s considerate of them to take the small gap by the wall instead, but still a massive invasion of a safe space. 

“Can I help you?” Jehan turns to the person, ready for a fight, but stops short. 

It’s tall, dark and handsome, which is cliche, but the only way Jehan can describe him. Neck and arms covered in tattoos, a single ear piercing. Wearing half a suit to a pub on a weekday. His eyes were careful, even when he was laughing, and as attractive as he is, Jehan knows he’s not someone they can trust. 

Jehan can’t remember the name, but they stood around for a while as Eponine and Grantaire had talked to this guy about a stint in jail for assault. Definitely someone Jehan should keep their distance from, but he’s been watching Jehan since introductions were made. He seems especially dangerous now, languid in his stance, an eyebrow raised at Jehan and the barest hint of a smile on his lips. 

“I don’t think we were introduced earlier,” he says. “I’m Montparnasse.”

“Prouvaire,” Jehan says, just to be contrary. “Can I help you?”

Montparnasse hands them a tissue as answer. Jehan takes their phone out and flicks on front facing camera, pats down their eyes as best as they can from the tears that managed to escape. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugs, and keeps smoking. There’s newer ink on his hands, not as tightly packed as his forearms, but still on its way to being covered. When Jehan looks down at their own hands, they are surprised by the faded, non-permanent scratchings of words across the surface. It’s all been written in pink ink, barely legible by the time Jehan had written them down in their notebook hours later, before coming out tonight. 

“So you went to prison?” Jehan doesn’t know why they ask it. As a writer, they are usually careful with their words, unless weed is involved, but even then, it takes a lot of pressure for invasive questions to leave their mouth. 

“Grantaire told me you killed your ex boyfriend,” Montparnasse says, a deflection if Jehan has ever heard one, but they accept it none-the-less. 

“Unfortunately not. That was him on the phone just now. Grantaire’s full of it, anyway, never listen to him.” 

Silence. It’s uncomfortable, so Jehan opens up their camera roll and opens up a folder of them on holiday, several months ago, in Spain. Jehan is an oversharer normally, so when heightened emotions are in the mix, most of their friends know to keep a safe distance away if they don’t want a reiteration of their life story. “He took me to Ibiza.”

Montparnasse takes the phone and begins to flick through the folder, smiling slightly. Maybe that’s just how his face is naturally drawn, Jehan muses. Jehan’s been told they have more of a resting ‘soft’ face; not bitchy, not smiling, but approachable. Kind. 

“From what Eponine and Grantaire were telling me, I didn’t take you for the Ibiza type. More France.”

“My mum’s from France actually, but— no, I guess I’m not,” they say. “I wanted to travel to Italy, visit Rome and Pompeii, but he said he would pay for everything if we went Spain instead.”

“At least it was free, then.”

“And I got a lot of writing done while he was getting pissed up,” Jehan sighs. “He was probably cheating on me, too, but I was glad for the time by myself when he was out.”

“I can’t stand cheating,” Montparnasse says, and he’s frowning, now. It’s unattractive, scrunches his features, and Jehan wants him to smile again, however threatening it may be. “Especially when guys are as fuck-ugly as he is. He was punching way above his weight with you, and he wasn’t content? Makes me sick.”

Jehan props their chin on their hand, watching him. Their heart flutters slightly at the compliment, however crudely it was delivered. Content in attributing  _ ugly  _ to Graham’s personality instead of physical appearance, because as much as they hate the man, they still have moral standards in their insults. 

“I thought he was attractive because he was older and came from money,” Jehan explains. “Enjolras and I, we had rich parents, but we were expected to work hard at our passions, instead of settling. It’s why we get on. With the others, too.” Jehan’s not really sure what they’re saying, but Montparnasse is looking at them with understanding, listening intently. It’s more than Graham ever gave them. “Graham always settled.”

“Has he always dressed this hideously, too?” 

Jehan snorts, hides their mouth behind their hand as they smile. Montparnasse smiles back. 

“It’s the banana shorts, right?” Montparnasse nods. “I hated the way he dressed around other people. I’m one to judge ugly clothing, I mean--” They gesture to their own flowery dungarees and off colour purple shirt. “--You know.”

“You stand out,” Montparnasse says. “Nothing wrong with that. Your ex dresses like he’s constantly on a Yacht. Or waiting for someone with a Yacht to take notice of him. Fucking annoying bastard, really. Barry big bollocks.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Jehan says, laughing. It’s their high pitched laugh, complete with ugly snorting, and it’s embarrassing their ugly laugh is out around a guy as hot as this one is. 

Except instead of looking horrified, Montparnasse seems  _ proud _ . 

Oh. Oh no. 

  
  


*-*

They talk all night. By 3am, Jehan’s eyes are heavy with much needed sleep, but they can’t bring themselves to tell Montparnasse and call an end to the insular world they’ve created for themselves. Despite being surrounded by crowds of rowdy drunks, the constant haze of smoke and the couples using way too much tongue for a public space, Jehan feels as if they are in a bubble, Montparnasse’s hand on their knee and back blocking them from sight. 

Eponine pokes her head out the door when the other three head out, and the only indication she gives of disapproval is a minute head shake, a stern look at Montparnasse, before she kisses their cheek and disappears. 

At some point, Jehan shivers and moments later Montparnasse is draping his suit jacket across their shoulders. He’s listening with actual interest as Jehan talks about the books they read recently, their course at University, what their plans are for the future (tomorrow), and also for the general future. 

Montparnasse doesn’t share as much, but Jehan is comfortable, and comfortable for them means even more intense oversharing. No interest seems feigned, faked, even when Jehan goes on a rant about  _ Treasure Planet  _ being severely underappreciated at the box office for half an hour. 

Jehan gives up the ghost eventually, and Montparnasse offers to drive them back to the flat they share with Feuilly and Bahorel, who both failed to show up at any point that night.  _ They probably slept together _ , is what Jehan tells Montparnasse, and then that starts another round of discussion concerning their roommates and the not-so-secret relationship between them.

*-* 

Montparnasse’s car costs more than it should for someone who literally just got out of prison-- if he’s even allowed a license-- but the seats are warm, and he lets Jehan connect their Spotify and doesn’t complain at the upbeat pop music. 

They get there quickly. Montparnasse asks if he can walk Jehan up to their door; they say yes. 

Then says yes to the bedroom, quiet as they tread the floorboards. 

  
  


*-*

He has soft hands. Scarred on the back, covered in those tattoos, but his palms are smooth when he touches Jehan.

*-*

He stays the night. 

Jehan slips their phone number into Montparnasse's pocket before he leaves several hours later, once Bahorel has left for the gym and Feuilly has disappeared to his 9am lecture. Lets Montparnasse press them against the counter and kiss them for another five minutes before finally pushing him out of the door to go to work.

*-*

They wait for a call. 

It never comes, and Jehan remembers:  _ no relationships. Never again. _

*-*

When Jehan started University, part of their agreement with their parents was that they would get a part time job in the city and they would always be there to send money over if Jehan was in any kind of dire situation. It worked better than Jehan would admit when they were being overly dramatic and grieving the fact that they were taking the tube to University every day and not living in their bedroom at home anymore. 

Jehan managed to pull strings before they even moved in, because that was what their mother had taught, ended up with a bookstore job near campus that allows flexible hours for students. It’s here that they met Cosette, a second year with an overprotective father and a group of friends bigger than any Jehan had ever known, a comfortable home away from their parents. 

While Valjean is a kind person, he’s also unforgiving when it comes to poor work ethic, which is why Jehan is still working in spite of having a case of Freshers flu so bad Joly refused to enter the flat without a mask and a whole backpack of medical things to treat them. It was needlessly dramatic, and Bossuet was more of a threat of catching colds from completely healthy than Jehan was like this, anyway, but Jehan allowed their friends some freedom. 

“Dad, maybe you should… let Jehan go home early?” Cosette says it like a question. She’s already wrapping herself up in her coat and scarf, dull enough in colour that Jehan knows it’s not her own accessories she’s wearing. Cosette and Marius are pastel and cosy sweaters, which means the all black ensemble is definitely Eponine’s.

Jehan chooses not to read into their complicated relationship in the same way they politely never brought up... _him, _again, after that night. 

A struggle for Marius, who had to use every ounce of his being to remember things sometimes, but it was a struggle he braved valiantly. 

“I’m fine,” Jehan insists, and would wave their hands if not for the stack of books they were holding to put on display. “Honest.”

“You sound like a garbage disposal,” Cosette says.

“Don’t be mean,” Jehan says. “Honest, I’m  _ fine _ .” They carefully cough into their shoulder. 

Valjean puts a book down on the cash register and peers at Jehan over his glasses. It would be intimidating, if Jehan hadn’t seen him cuddled up with his husband on the sofa crying over Emma Thompson in  _ Love, Actually  _ via Cosette’s Snapchat story the night before. Valjean is almost twice Jehan's size, length and width wise, owner of a full head of dark hair and a beard that put Grantaire's to shame. Jehan saw a picture of Valjean shirtless one and swore they had the vapours-- mostly to annoy Cosette, but also because _muscles_. 

Now Valjean is the quiet owner of a bookstore, loving husband of a police officer, and father to a whole group of youths dedicated to getting arrested for the sake of _liberty. _He wore sweaters and glasses, read romance novels like they were a lifeline, and still, Jehan would swoon if they weren't built of stronger stuff. 

“Jehan, you’ve already worked for five hours,” Valjean says.

“I’m planning on doing shopping after this, anyway, I can just finish the half an hour.”

Valjean frowns. Cosette frowns. It’s eerily similar. 

“It’s not like the next half hour can make me feel any worse.”

_ Famous last words. _

  
  
  


Jehan stays, and Cosette leaves, still frowning at them. Valjean continues to serve customers while Jehan works the shelves, putting back returns.

They are in the back by Non-Fiction, carefully eyeing up a half-price copy of Dolly Alderton’s book when someone coughs behind them. Rude way to get their attention, but Jehan is already turning with a smile on their face to greet the customer.

The smile falls off instantly when they see who it is.

“It’s you,” they say, and it comes out so disgustingly snotty they have no choice but to pull a tissue out of their sleeve and blow their nose. It’s lengthy, but Jehan has no shame. 

“It is me,” Montparnasse says. It’s too cocky for Jehan’s liking, even if Montparnasse  _ does  _ look like an underwear model in his leather jacket and skinny jeans, while Jehan feels and looks like they’ve gone through a blender backwards.

Jehan’s not sure of the analogy, but Grantaire had laughed at it over text, so they’ve stuck with it. 

Instead of screaming, or crying, or losing their chill and asking Montparnasse what the  _ fuck  _ he’s doing in their place of work, Jehan says, “Did you see this?”

Montparnasse eyes the cover: it’s what Cosette has called the  _ Squid book _ , even though it is definitely an octopus on the cover. 

“Pretty sure I saw it on one of the front tables. By the doors.”

“What other front tables are there?” Jehan mutters. It’s rude, dismissive, and they rush off as quickly as they can. 

Montparnasse follows, because of  _ course  _ he does, only to stop at some shelves halfway there. Jehan manages to replace the book and scuttles out the back before Montparnasse can spot them, donning their peacoat and scarf quickly.

“Valjean, could I have my new- oh, sorry.” 

Montparnasse is standing at the counter, smiling at Jehan over Valjean’s shoulder. They’ve interrupted a conversation, which is embarrassing, and they feel themselves going red.

How did he even move that quickly? He must have approached as soon as Jehan disappeared out the back. 

“We were just catching up,” Montparnasse says as Jehan steps around the counter, fiddling with the bookmark stand as they wait for Valjean to finish serving. Jehan frowns at a Peppa Pig bookmark. “We go way back.”

And, right, Eponine. She had mentioned Montparnasse being a childhood friend; Cosette had lived with her when they were children, before Valjean had adopted her, so it made sense, really, that Valjean would be aware of Montparnasse’s existence beyond him being a neighbourhood menace.

“How  _ is  _ Javert doing?” 

That’s more unexpected.

“You know Javert?” Javert, Valjean's husband, had arrested others of the _Amis _more than any of them cared to admit to Cosette. He had yet to arrest Jehan, but it was early days, really. 

“He’s the one who put me in prison,” Montparnasse says and, well. “Valjean and I have that in common.”

Jehan looks, wide eyed, at Valjean. He looks uncomfortable at the rehashing of his past. 

Unable to stop themself, Jehan slaps Montparnasse’s arm. It’s muffled by the many layers between them on, but Montparnasse still blinks in surprise. 

“Don’t be rude,” Jehan reprimands. “This is Valjean’s business. He doesn’t come into your workplace and bring up your illicit past, does he? So don’t do the same to him. Apologise.” Montparnasse stares. “What? Apologise!”

Montparnasse looks at Valjean, whose eyebrows are raised in something that looks like alarm. 

“Sorry,” he says, and then tacks on a slightly sarcastic ‘sir’ at the end that Jehan chooses not to push. They are already playing it risky. 

“It’s fine,” Valjean says, then coughs. “Um. That will be… £61.94.”

Montparnasse hands over the money and receives a tote bag in response. It’s one of the newer prints Jehan was saving up for, with a little cartoon Elizabeth and Mr Darcy on either side. They are only  _ slightly  _ jealous.

Jehan siddles up to the counter as Montparnasse vacates the space. “Can I have my reserves, please, Valjean? And a plastic bag, please, my backpack broke this morning.”

“These are yours,” Montparnasse says.

“Haha, funny,” Jehan says.

Valjean nods. “They are yours, Jehan.”

They lean their head back to look at the ceiling, catching their breath, before spinning around to glare at Montparnasse. “Do I look incapable to you?"

“I literally have whiplash right now,” Montparnasse says in response. He looks disgruntled, and it hurts Jehan that he actually looks  _ cute  _ like that. 

“Valjean, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jehan says through gritted teeth. 

Valjean hums a goodbye as Jehan storms as politely as they can from the shop, head down the minute they step out into the biting cold. They tug their scarf tighter, shivering. 

Montparnasse keeps pace, because of  _ course  _ he does, Jehan only has tiny legs. In some places Montparnasse actually steers them around corners, heading  _ somewhere _ , and maybe it says something about Jehan’s lack of willingness to live when they are that sick, that they follow Montparnasse all the way to his car. 

He actually has the cheek to open the door for Jehan to climb in, an exact repeat of those months ago when they had gone home together. Jehan frowns and climbs in, already facing outside the passenger window when Montparnasse climbs in. 

They spend several minutes with the car idling, seats warming up until Jehan softens into the seat, sighing slightly in content. 

The bills have been racking up between the three of them in the flat, so they only ever have the heating on for showers now. It’s 6pm and Jehan is actually  _ warm  _ for once. Only food would make them feel better. 

“Eponine messaged, said you were sick,” he says, finally. Jehan looks at him in the mirror. “I wanted to take you to dinner.” _Oh, sweet Jesus. _

“And what made you think I’d  _ want  _ to go to dinner with you?” 

Montparnasse rolls his eyes. Jehan sees it in the window, and spins round.

“Look, I’m a nice person,” Jehan begins, barrelling through Montparnasse opening his mouth, “but every single time I’ve seen you I have done things very unlike myself. I shit talked my ex-boyfriend,  _ flirted _ , slept with you, I have  _ yelled  _ at you, all things I never do, and you  _ didn’t even call me.  _ I don’t want to go to dinner with you if I’m going to continue being a version of me that I do not like. This isn’t a game.” 

“Well.” Montparnasse smiles. “I’m glad you haven’t slept with anyone else, at le-”

“Oh, shut up,” they snap. Montparnasse smiles wider. “Why are you smiling? Do I look happy? You- you come and harass me, in my place of work-”

“You wrote your number wrong,” he interrupts. Jehan shuts up. Montparnasse reaches into his glove box and rifles through it for a few moments before pulling out a familiar piece of pink paper. “Look.”

Jehan takes the offered piece of paper and reads over the number and— yup. They wrote their number down wrong. 

“Shit,” Jehan says faintly. Their heart seems to beat faster, looking down at the offending piece of paper. All of this misery, and it was  _ their fault.  _ Not Montparnasse’s. And now they’ve been a massive  _ ass  _ the whole time. 

“I messaged Eponine to get your number, but she refused to give it to me until I’d— sorted some things.” He’s purposefully vague, but Jehan doesn’t really feel like he owes  _ any  _ explanations after how they’ve been. 

“Sounds illegal,” they say, voice muted.  _ I can’t believe this. I can’t believe he actually wanted to message me and I yelled at him and he just let me.  _ “You bought my books for me?” 

“Yeah. And I knew you liked Jane Austen. Figured it would be an apology, for taking so long to actually get in touch.” A pause. Jehan wants to cry. “Would you like to get dinner? Or shall I drive you home? You don’t seem great.”

Jehan sniffles. “I look like shit, I know.”  _ I look like shit, and Hot Criminal who I yelled at still wants to go to dinner with me. Romanticisation of criminal activity is as big a crime as any. I am weak.  _

“Nah, you just sound it,” Montparnasse says. 

“Please don’t be nice to me,” Jehan says. “I’ve been such an asshole to you.”

Montparnasse shrugs and leans over, tugging at Jehan’s seatbelt. They let him belt them up, tugging at their sleeves. 

“It’s fine, Jehan,” Montparnasse says. “More than fine, actually. Most people are too chicken shit to tell me how it is. You thought I ignored you after a hook up and then I turned up at your place of work weeks after as if nothing had happened. I violated your safe spaces right after you broke up with an ex and didn’t even call to clear things up. There’s a lot of this shit on me, so don’t apologise, okay? Not for shit like this.”

“Okay,” they say, because that’s all they  _ can  _ say.

“Now, do you prefer McDonalds or KFC?”

Jehan laughs, sniffles again as they wipe tears away as discreetly as possible. “McDonalds, please. I’m a vegetarian and they have more options.”

“There we go.”

**Author's Note:**

> *sips tea* fuck the government and fuck boris
> 
> anyway sorry if the pacing is whack in this fic, i just really wanted to write it and get it out there. the timeline of this series makes NO SENSE but that's the price you pay for this instead of well thought out angst 
> 
> if you think jehan's characterisation is weird, remember, we're all characters in this game called life. also, sometimes with certain people we can be the opposite of our usual personality, something i'll probably explore in future fics in this series 
> 
> title is from paramore's 'the only exception'. i almost nearly named it after my chemical romance's 'famous last words' in honour of their comeback, but, well, i have a theme going!! 
> 
> also, mcdonalds are now serving the festive cheese bites. angels weep.


End file.
